


The ashes left behind

by DissolveNeurotic



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Depressing, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DissolveNeurotic/pseuds/DissolveNeurotic
Summary: Elias and Dominic have been tightly-woven together ever since they decided that they should give each other a chance... Unfortunately, sometimes happiness is only too fleeting and easily compromised.





	The ashes left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, as an additional warning; I would like to mention that this is Extremely Depressing Content - which includes: Depression. Grief. Death (also suicide).
> 
> Now that I've done my warning duty (albeit a bit belatedly), please enjoy (or sadden) yourself. :)

** The ashes left behind. **

It should have been raining.

The stupid English weather couldn’t seem to be anything but grey and moody every time he noticed it, and yet today of all days, it wasn’t. He couldn't help but glare at the sky - it shouldn't have been so nice out.

Then again, he thought – wasn’t it fitting that **_he_** should be buried on a warm sunny day?

Bandit was hiding in the shade of the trees, further away than what was thought acceptable; he knew he should have been in the front rows, with the others. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to be there; to be laying flowers down as he listened to nice prepared speeches.

He should be standing stoically in front of a soldier’s casket, as they all looked down somberly.

The thought brought  an ugly sneer to his face for a brief moment; he'd lost the most precious thing, and he couldn’t bring himself to watch it be buried in the ground.

Because he wouldn’t get to ruffle that sun-kissed hair or see those sky-blue eyes widen with joy ever again. The two of them wouldn’t get to trade lazy kisses in the morning, still half-asleep before their first cup of coffee.

  
They wouldn’t run together again, in a friendly competition where the loser would smirk as he got down on his knees while they hid behind a tree. They hadn’t been able to find themselves twined together that fateful morning, tangled in the bedsheets for one last time.

It was so fucking unfair…

...

He recalled with painful clarity how he had heard shots fired, hiding behind a wall while Elias had hid across the room – they had been waiting for an opening, and they’d leaped in as soon as they had heard the sound of guns reloading. They were... had been... a well-oiled machine, working in tandem, instinctively knowing each other’s moves seconds before they made them.

Now half of it was gone, and the other half was irreparably broken.

 **“Looks like I’ve sprung a leak.”** Elias had said at first, trying to play it off as he always did - with a smile in his voice. The sound of the shield hitting the ground had seemed so loud, reverberating through his head as he had seen his partner buckle to his knees.

He'd rushed over, not allowing him to crash to the ground.

They had been safe for now, so he hadn’t cared about proper procedure – he’d taken off their helmets without a second thought, pulling off both of their respective balaclavas; Elias was sporting a fake smile, brows furrowed in pain.

 **“You’ll be fine – let me patch you up.”** He had told him, trying to be reassuring. Because he was obviously the poster boy for comfort and reassurance.

He had applied pressure to the spreading dark stains, trying to fix the leak as well as he could. Sinking despair had gradually taken over even as he obsessively tried to make it stop, but it just refused to do so - even after using anything he could find in their first aid kit.

 **“Sorry, Dom...”** Elias had coughed, sputting blood and knowing before him that it was all useless.

He remembered giving up; realizing that no one would make it in time to save them. There was nothing to do but hold Elias against him as he brushed dirty gloves through sweat-matted hair. 

It left bloody streaks behind, but he hadn't registered them at the time. There was already had blood running down Blitz's chin anyway, as blue eyes began losing their focus.

 **“S'really cold out, y'know. M' really tired…”** Elias had mumbled; fear was creeping in his voice and Dominic would have none of that – he refused to let his partner die afraid. They didn’t have much time left together, and he’d be damned if it was spent being scared of the inevitable.

It was realistically the least he could do.

 **“You really do look like crap. And now you're napping on the battlefield ? Damn, that’s just stupid, Eli.”** He had said, choked up.

He hadn’t realized it at the time, but they were sitting ducks – anyone could’ve walked in, taken their time to aim and shot him through the head. He wouldn’t even have registered the steps coming in his direction.

Maybe it would have been more merciful if he had died too.

 **“I don’t... want to leave you...”** Elias had murmured, before fresh blood ran down his chin as he coughed again. Bandit swiped it away without a second thought, and unbuckled the armor – trying to ease his lover’s breathing. Every word that was dragged out seemed to take a monumental effort.

 **“So stay, I’ll even warm you up. You can stick your cold feet under my calves and I won’t say shit about it.”** He replied weakly, thumbing Elias’ cheek affectionately. It got him a slight chuckle for his efforts, and another spatter of blood.

They had shared a bloody kiss, something small and affectionate.

He knew that Elias couldn’t stay – not when he was losing an impossible battle... That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to hold on and fight for every additional second, until both of their hearts stopped.

 **“Dom, promise you’ll stay… even when I'm...”** Elias was weakly grabbing at him, resting their foreheads together. He held his hand, squeezing it while wondering how the little fucker had the gall to ask him to live on without his better half.

 **“You little... Yeah, okay. I'll do that, but just because you asked nicely.”** He'd answered without thinking, because the other needed the peace of mind. It still pains him how clearly Elias still saw through him; even at the very end.

He remembered holding on tighter, knowing it wouldn’t be long now. He kept talking in a low voice with Elias, keeping him comfortable in his lap, even as the other’s breathing grew more labored.

He shushed the hiccupped apologies with tears in his eyes – of course he’d apologize for dying, the lovable idiot. Dominic kept up the affectionate touches until the breaths became so shallow that they stopped entirely.

That’s when he shut down too.

...

He doesn’t remember the rest, but what he does know is from a secondhand account.

Apparently he had been frightful sight; he was spattered in blood, rocking back and forth and nearly feral to anyone who approached his position. All his clips had been empty, strewn around carelessly while he was surrounded by the bullet-riddled corpses of those who had dared to take Blitz away from him.

He can’t even recall shooting anyone after their initial attack, the one that had... killed... Elias, he thought, swallowing thickly. The fact that he was out of bullets and had tossed his guns away was probably the only reason that nobody else got shot as they came close to him.

He was lost in a fugue; any attempt to reason with him had been met with failure. Not even the voices of Monika and Marius had been able to get him to let his guard down. He had only held on tighter to the lifeless shell of his lover and best friend, with a low noise rumbling from the back of his throat.

It was almost embarrassing, how he'd lost his head like that.

His squadmates had been sure that the both of them had died at first, since Bandit hadn’t been answering any of the static that came through his headset, asking them to respond, to give them a sign they were alive. He had remained deathly quiet.

He wasn’t taking any calls, and Blitz couldn’t answer them either.

At some point they had managed to get close enough to sedate him, pry Blitz away from his bloodied gloves and get them on the transport back home.

Home...

Home was a person, someone who was now in the ground.  
Home was disheveled blond hair, bright blue eyes and the most beautiful laugh in the world. Home was being berated for pulling unpractical jokes, before being pulled in a playful kiss anyway.

He would never make it home again either, he thought bitterly; might as well have dropped him in the pretty box too.

...

Now, though, he was standing under the warm sun. He had donned a crisp, formal suit and his best shoes, fidgeting with a smoke he hadn’t lit because Elias would’ve been pissed if he had indulged during his funerals.

Not that **he** would’ve blamed Dominic for smoking in the first place, or stopped him from doing it. He would've just looked at him with his patented disapproving-yet-undertsanding stare.

It still just didn’t seem right, despite how much he itched to light one up.

He walked away without seeing the casket, because what was a wooden box going to do for him anyway? The idea of closure because of a damn box felt idiotic to him. Was he supposed to mingle with other people who felt grief, to share the burden?

Maybe he was supposed to introduce himself to Blitz’s parents and siblings, to the grieving family who had lost their prodigal son? Was he supposed to say that he was his partner here, so they could reminisce together about all the good things - banish the weight of loss for a moment with tearful smiles, maybe?

What the hell was the point, he thought idly with a dark chuckle. He walked away alone, without a backward glance... He didn’t care about these people.

The one that mattered was gone.

Nothing could seem to warm him up anymore, not even the bright sun – he was the one who felt cold now. It felt like he was constantly shivering and that his bones themselves were made of ice. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling.

The others didn’t know what to make of him; he remained an empty slate, devoid of anything instead of mourning like any sensible individual. Maybe it was one of the steps of grief or something; he hadn’t really listened to this crap when they had to attend that seminar about losing someone important.

Monika and Marius’ eyes were often red, and they held on to each other, supported each other. They sat together, sought each other out in their fitful sleep – but Dominic wanted none of this close camaraderie anymore.

He cut himself out of the picture, rebuked their offers to help, and wanted to be left the hell alone.

He and Monika had ended up shouting at each other; there had been cutting words spit out from both sides but it hadn’t been fair, how venomous he had been... Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to apologize anyway. He couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

The whole argument had ended when she had called him a soulless, heartless bastard for not caring that **Elias was dead**. He had just laughed until his sides hurt, until he couldn’t breathe either, and told her to fuck off.

He hadn’t said anything to Marius, because it would just have been needlessly cruel. Elias would’ve had his head for messing with him anyway… and the thought had choked him up when it went through his head.

...

They tried, being the key word here, to make him see a shrink. Something about needing to make sure he was sound of mind if he ever wanted to return on active duty – because right now he had been granted bereavement leave.

He had stared at the parade of shrinks, wordless through the entire sessions – because they had tried a few different ones in the hopes of finding the one who would make him talk. He had sat in the chair as they tried to get him to open up, and while he had wanted to remain expressionless, sometimes he couldn’t help the sardonic smiles that came up on his face.

Any reaction always resulted in something being jotted down - how stereotypical.

It wasn’t quite hatred or anger, but something more like disdain that he felt for them; because just how did they think they could relate to someone who had watched their fucking sun and stars become extinguished in their arms? How could they relate to witnessing the love of their life having their lungs filled with blood, drowning in it until they couldn’t breathe anymore?

It was laughable.

…

Blitz’s locker in the armory was empty now. Their lockers had been situated next to one another’s, so it was hard to avoid knowing and staring. He now realized how stupidly intertwined they had been - from the beginning, they had always walked beside each other.

Even when he'd been a complete asshole, the other German had still been there, smiling.

Bandit still went in to maintain his gear, despite still being on bereavement leave for an undetermined amount of time. They refused to send him back in the field; they called him "too emotionally compromised". They said he needed "a steadier emotional footing", that they were "worried for his health" and other stupid bullshit.

The empty locker still hadn’t found a new owner, since there had been no replacement sent in to fill in the shoes of the deceased operator... Deceased operator, such formal words, he thought blandly.

 **He** was dead, **his** name had been Elias Kötz, and **his** alias Blitz.

Everyone had taken it hard; Blitz was beloved by the entire team, he always had a smile ready for anyone who crossed his path... He regularly wished he had died instead, because Elias didn’t deserve it.

Bandit would've been a lesser loss.

 **He** should’ve still been alive, being a mother hen and making them _Ppfankuchen_ until they couldn’t eat any more. A small fleeting smile appeared on his face before reality sunk in again.

 **His** room was empty too; lifeless, lightless, devoid of any belongings...

His lover wouldn’t burrow himself under the covers again, one foot poking out by the side of the bed. He wouldn’t get crushed because Blitzwas doing his best impression of an octopus or complain that Dominic’s bony knees dug into his back.

When Dominic had slipped in one night, out of habit – he had stood there watching for what felt like hours, holding on to the doorframe as if crushing it would make him feel better.

Elias’ few belongings had been returned to his family; except the things that the GSG9 squad had kept for themselves.

Dominic had kept the grey-blue hooded jacket that he had always stolen from Elias anyway... The smell had been gone for a while now, but it didn’t matter... 

Since he always felt cold now, he seemed to spend every moment wrapped in his trademark jacket, the black one with the yellow stripe... or comforted by the one that had belonged to his lover.

He hadn’t wanted to wash it in the beginning, but eventually had relented because it would’ve become really disgusting.  
  
Elias wasn’t a slob. He would’ve been annoyed with him if he hadn't washed it eventually, or taken the matter in his own hands and dumped it in the wash without his knowledge.

What Elias would’ve thought was one of his primary motivators for doing anything, these days.

...

He still picked up two oranges with his breakfast every morning; he sat alone and peeled them both until he realized that it was for naught - that there wasn’t anyone sitting in front of him who would happily eat the pieces that were being fed with a smile and sticky fingers.

He would still pick up an extra cup of chocolate pudding at dinner, even if he had never eaten them – he didn’t care for them but had always taken them because it was **his** favorite. He ended up staring at them blankly – they were a reminder that **he** was gone.

Often, he would turn his head to say something to Elias, only to be greeted with thin air. It always took him aback for a moment, because his brain couldn’t seem to process that **he** wasn’t there. His lack of sleep must have been playing with his imagination, because sometimes he was sure he had just heard the man he loved talk to him as if he was right around the corner.

Sleep was difficult... Sometimes he couldn’t manage to get a wink at all or when he did, it was only to wake up drenched in sweat, a scream stuck in his throat. He only managed to get something resembling sleep when he passed out from exhaustion.

Yet he felt so tired, now, all the time – it was a miracle he hadn’t cut himself with his razor or slipped in the shower. It was beginning to show, though... The mirror every morning was showing him sunken eyes and pasty skin, his high cheekbones highlighted by the weight he was losing.

He wasn’t really hungry anymore though – but he went through the motion anyway.

He ended up awake in the kitchen sometimes, at crazy hours and sharing the space with Jackal, the Spanish operator who was prone to insomnia. They didn’t talk, just moved silently around each other, and it was a relief not to have to bother with idle chatter.

He figured that Ryad might be the only one who could relate, since he’d held his own dying brother.

But his favorite haunt remained the roof – where he would find himself a spot overlooking the base, and ruined his lungs some more. Once, he had considered maybe taking something else with a bit more of a kick, but the fact that he might go down that path again had made him sick and he’d thrown his meager meal back up.

He could’ve sworn he’d heard Elias' concerned whispers in his ear, and it had made him laugh humorlessly as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. It was just one more manifestation of his sleep-deprived or grief-addled imagination.

But how sweet it had sounded anyway.

He’d have to wash the jacket again, he thought glumly. It felt like such a hurdle, suddenly.

He stayed on the roof until the sun rose up. He was barely paying attention to the reddening sky as he stayed huddled on himself, lost in his own head – daydreaming about a time his lover hadn’t left him behind yet...

He missed him... the way you missed your heart once it was taken out of your chest.

...

Everyone still tiptoed around him like he was a live bomb, ready to explode at the slightest provocation; but at least they left him to his own devices. They were used to him shuffling around the base by now, something of a ghost... He felt drained, as if with every day that passed, he was losing more substance.

It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his promise to Elias.

He was still free to do his entire training regimen, including the gunnery range. He was grateful, because using his gun was rather freeing, actually. It had become one of the highlights of his week; it was when he felt the most focused, almost happy even.

He only used his handgun, because the sleek, clean look appealed the most to him, these days. He took good care of it - spending too much time on it, in fact. He hadn’t lost any of his accuracy, and he was proud of it – he remained in fighting shape, despite everything.

As the back-to-back shots straight through the head of the practice target could attest.

He lowered his gun, and removed the protective headset. He was tired again... He heard the shots around him, the others practicing their aim, and he looked at them longingly. They were doing just fine, why was he the only one so tired?

He removed the empty magazine, before realizing he still had one shot left after all. He stared at it blankly, utterly confused. He brought it up for closer inspection – how had he missed that?

How could he have forgotten how many bullets were in one full clip? He thought that he knew everything about his job, it was all he had anymore.

Now he didn't even have that certainty.

He put the clip back in, and flicked the safety off once more. A concerned murmur again; Elias would be pissed at him, he thought wryly.

When he lifted the gun to shoot again, his aim didn’t waver. His fingers didn’t tremble, and he didn’t hesitate... Except this time, he didn’t shoot the target yet he didn’t miss either.

Blitz might have died with a whimper... but Bandit went out with a bang.


End file.
